


St Jude

by zeldaottos



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, This is a two-shot, This is kinda angsty, idk how to tag Diana, im sorry zelds for making you suffer but alas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldaottos/pseuds/zeldaottos
Summary: "Zelda stares at the empty space where the spirit had just been, a million thoughts going through her head at the same time - thoughts that only her brother’s late wife could evoke."Zelda reflects on her past history with Sabrina's mother. AU Zelda/Diana. Post-episode for 01x11. Two-shot.





	St Jude

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this story to mars. Thank you for this marvelous headcanon.  
> Two-shot AU.  
> More notes at the end.

It’s late at night and the Spellman family members have all retreated to their respective bedrooms for a much needed rest after the Solstice’s ending.

Hilda chose to go back to her own room, leaving Zelda alone with the baby they named Leticia. The child sleeps peacefully in her improvised crib, allowing the redheaded witch to finally breathe in the emotional turmoil the recent days have caused.

She’d already processed most of it: the appearance of Gryla, the relief of saving Susie from the demon, the tough decisions regarding Leticia’s future… only one particular memory was left to deal with.

 _“Sabrina, the Yule Log’s gone out-- Diana._ ” _The air leaves her lungs as soon as she opens the door. She frowns internally, not fully comprehending and most certainly not prepared for the sight her eyes encounter in her niece’s room, but the blonde woman with sad eyes is gone before she can say another word._

 _Zelda stares at the empty space where the spirit had just been, a million thoughts going through her head at the same time - thoughts that only her brother’s late wife could evoke._  

_A palpable silence takes over the room, the younger witches not daring to move or even blink. Zelda swallows past the bitter taste in her tongue and forces her body to control its own reactions, reminding herself that the situation at hand and the safety of the girls in this room are far more important than whatever old wounds her heart refuses to heal. She can deal with her own ghosts later._

The witch shakes her head and rises from the bed, walking the few steps it takes to reach her dresser. She stares at her own reflection in the mirror while her hands start the process of taking off her earrings and necklaces of their own volition, as if on automatic mode. A lone tear escapes her eye, and Zelda lets it run free as the memories flood her senses.

“ _Welcome to Spellman Mortuary. My name is Zelda Spellman. How may I assist you?”_

_“Hello, I’m Diana Sawyer and I… Need to--” the blonde woman’s voice breaks and she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and opens them again, determination and grief battling in her irises. “I need to bury my mother.” She lets out a sigh, all the air leaving her fragile looking body._

_It’s 10 a.m. on a rainy Saturday in December and they hardly ever receive people directly at their door, especially not when there’s a weather like this. But here is this young and probably desperate woman - Diana, was it? - in her office and she already knows it’s gonna be one of those excessively dramatic and highly ironic cases where mortals can’t cope with mortality. She quietly prays for Satan to get this done quickly._

_Zelda takes a deep breath, assessing the woman currently sitting in the wooden chair they reserve for clients._

_“We’re currently not burying people here. I can provide you with a funeral at most.” There’s a tense pause. “Would you like some tea? It’s fresh, my sister just made it.”_

_The woman nods and lifts her hand to a silver medal she carries around her neck. Probably has an image of one of those false god’s followers that called themselves saints. Great._

_Zelda serves her the beverage and sits across from her, noticing how she took off the trinket and now holds the item in her hands, right thumb sliding languidly over the metal figure. She can’t help but observe the mortal’s beautiful fingers, the delicate skin of her wrists._

_Diana sips her tea and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna take much of your time. I can do the burial at the cemetery, I just need to set my mother’s funeral. Something small, for ten people. Is tomorrow morning available?”_

_All previous traces of grief or sadness are gone from her voice. Diana’s entire posture has changed, her voice assuming a rather business-like tone._

_Zelda frowns. This is a far too different reaction from what she anticipated._

_“Miss… Sawyer?” She waits for the blonde woman’s nod before continuing. “These moments of loss can be painful for mort-- most. We understand there's a time needed to… mourn. You don't need to feel obligated to rush everything on our account.”_

_Diana looks directly into her eyes for the first time since she knocked on the mortuary’s door. They’re the clearest shade of blue Zelda has ever seen._

_“I have lost my father, a very close friend and a neighbor over the last year alone, so I’ve had more than a fair share of time for mourning, believe me.” She gives Zelda a self-deprecating smile and sips her tea once again._

_It's been years since a mortal left her speechless, but this mysterious woman has managed to do just that. “Tomorrow morning suits our schedule perfectly.”_

_They quickly discuss all the bureaucracy a funeral requires and soon Diana is saying her goodbyes and thanking Zelda for the warm tea. A chamomile scent settles in the air after she’s gone and Zelda can’t help but feel intrigued by this woman who seems to have witnessed so many losses in her short mortal years._

The sound of pearls hitting glass wake her from the memory, and she realizes her necklace has fallen from her hands directly onto her dresser table. Zelda opens the drawer at her right, places the jewelry inside.

_It's evening and she's standing at the entrance of their funeral room - those invited have all left the site, the coffin has been taken to the car that will drive it to its final resting place and there's only a final figure remaining inside, precisely the one she has been waiting for._

_“Miss Sawyer?” The name leaves her lips tentatively, almost as if asking for permission to be said aloud. It’s enough to capture the other woman’s attention._

_“Miss Spellman.” Diana frowns, surprise making her cerulean eyes look cloudy._

_Zelda clears her throat, “I'm sorry to reach you here, I just wanted to return your necklace. You forgot it at our office when we were discussing your mother’s funeral.” She extends her right hand at the other woman, exposes a small package._

_“Oh.” The blonde reaches for her hand, their fingers encountering briefly while the necklace is transferred from one to the other. It's enough to send a jolt of electricity through the witch’s bloodstream. “Thank you, that's very kind.”_

_Zelda nods in acknowledgement. She should leave now, but the electric current that started at her hand has apparently reached her brain, for it makes her mouth mutter words before she can retreat. “The ignored Judas.”_  

_“What?”_

_“Your medal. I couldn't help but notice, my apologies. It's just a rather... unusual figure to encounter.”_

_“Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.” She offers her a bittersweet upturn of lips, an almost smile. “The patron saint of lost causes and desperate cases.”_

_“Aren't they all?” Zelda inquiries, one eyebrow raised._

_Diana shrugs. “From where I come from? Sure. Haven't been in Greendale long enough to tell if it’s the same over here too, though.”_

_“Well, I for one have lived here for quite some time and I can assure you: it is.”_

_Diana tilts her head sideways, much like a child. “A lost cause or a desperate case?”_

_Zelda smirks, offers her an elegant shrug. “Both.”_

_Diana laughs quietly, her teeth showing. Zelda notices how it illuminates her features, rivals the sunlight reflecting in the golden waves of her hair; it makes her realize that Diana Sawyer is a beautiful creature._

_The mortal stares at her for a moment too long, scrutinizing. It leaves Zelda feeling self-conscious in a way she doesn't often feel anymore. The witch frowns. “What is it?”_

_Diana shakes her head. “You dress like a fervent Catholic, you walk like a fervent Catholic, you even identify Saint Jude Thaddeus from a silver medal. And yet, I have a feeling you're not even a believer.”_  

 _This conversation is not at all what Zelda expected. She should curse this stranger for offending her this much. Misplacing her for a follower of that false deity? How dare she? Satan, the nerve!_  

_Zelda rolls her eyes at her audacity. “Why, because I own a mortuary?”_

_“Because I’d certainly remember if I ever saw you at the church.”_

_What was once a spark of indignation inside her bursts into flames of… Something else entirely. She swallows dry, ignores the sudden crescendo thrumming in her ears. “I am, in fact, a believer. Just maybe not of the same thing as you.”_

_Diana answers with a noncommittal shrug, humming an acceptance and apparently unaware of the inner turmoil the redhead faces. The sound of a car engine turning on steals her attention._

_“Well, I should go.” She pauses and looks deep inside Zelda’s eyes. “Thank you once again for returning my necklace. It means a lot.”_

_Zelda dismisses her, “You don’t need to thank me, miss Sawyer. It was nothing short of an obligation.”_

_Diana is silent once again, observing her as if trying to find some hidden meaning behind her words. Zelda wonders if this mortal girl is simply not as talkative as the others usually are._

_The blonde woman extends a hand, clearly expecting a shake. “It was very nice to meet you.”_  

_Zelda hesitates before enveloping the stranger’s hand in a gentle grip. The electrical current is back, shooting daggers at her cells and making her heart lose rhythm. For Satan’s sake, what is wrong with her?_

_“I hope you don't mind if I come by after the burial to sign the final papers?” Diana is saying, their handshake over._

_“We're about to close for today, unfortunately. I will be running errands in the morning and won't be available until noon, but I'll let my sister know and she can have the papers ready for you.”_

_“Oh. That's fine, I can come by in the afternoon. Hopefully you'll have more of that delicious tea?” Again, her face assumes that excited child-like expression._

_Yes, still a mortal after all. Maybe she isn't all that different from the rest of them._  

_Zelda purses her lips. “Hilda usually leaves a fresh pot right after lunchtime.”_

_Diana nods, finally turns to leave the room. She stops at the door, turns her head to look back at the witch. “Oh, and miss Spellman?”_

_Zelda hums in acknowledgment._

_“You can call me Diana.”_

She closes the drawer once again, eases her body into the chair and stares down at her own well polished fingers, turning the palms of her hands up.

_It turns out that Diana Sawyer is a fascinating and incredibly humorous person. Zelda can't properly explain how it happens, but one final tea turns into a long conversation that turns into an every Monday afternoon appointment and suddenly Hilda is giving her strange looks, because accepting a mortal inside their household for something other than strict mortuary subjects isn't at all like the Zelda Spellman she knows and what do they even talk about, anyway? What sort of friendship are they forming?_

_She simply dismisses her sister, saying the woman has never gone beyond their office and scoffing at the notion that they’d ever be friends, pointing out how their conversations are none of her business. She just lives nearby and stops to discuss tea preparation and gardening tricks occasionally, that's all there is to it._

_It is all, until one cold Monday when they exchange their tea for two bottles of centuries old red wine that Zelda leaves decorating the office shelf and Diana spots and - of course - inquiries about._

_Their heads are buzzing, they feel lighter than air and everything inside the room seems delectable. They're not quite drunk yet, but Zelda is sure Diana is at the further ends of tipsy already._  

_“Are you a witch?”_

_Zelda nearly drops her glass. “Pardon me?”_

_Diana laughs, her face flustered from the alcohol. “Relax, I'm just joking. It's just you have all this knowledge about herbs and gardening and wine bottles that look as old as the world and these are all things I'd expect to find at a witch's house. Plus, you give out the vibes.”_

_“The vibes?”_

_“Yeah. Like you could enchant a person with a kiss, or maybe just a single look.” She squints her eyes and flexes her fingers, as if throwing an imaginary spell from across the table._

_Zelda masks her amusement with an eye roll. Yes, Diana Sawyer was most definitely not completely sober. “Now that’s just ridiculous nonsense.”_

_“You even talk like a witch!”_

_Zelda stands up, crosses the table separating them and reaches for the glass of wine on the blonde woman’s hand, a patronizing smile gracing her lips. “Enough wine for you today, miss Sawyer.”_

_Diana stops her movements, impending her from completely removing her fingers from around the glass. “You never actually denied you're a witch, you know.” Her voice is no louder than a whisper._

_Zelda leans over the mortal, green irises boring into cerulean. “What if I told you I am, in fact, one, Diana? With a Satanic worship altar and everything?”_

_Diana blinks once, languidly, and then does something that the witch is most certainly not prepared for. She surges up and places her wine stained lips over Zelda’s._

Zelda looks at herself in the mirror, runs her thumb through the lower lip the blonde mortal once kissed. She shivers and flusters, can still remember how it felt, the taste of wine and the smell of chamomile, the moist and soft touch of lips and teeth and a barely there feel of tongue. Unexpected, alcohol-induced and still filled with that electricity she so often felt whenever Diana was near her.

A bittersweet smile forms of its own account. Everything changed after Edward returned.

_Diana doesn’t seem to remember the bold confession or the kiss from their last encounter, so Zelda keeps on pretending that nothing out of the ordinary happened that night. She avoids further riskier situations, sticks to tea and florals and non-alcoholic beverages._

_One day, it’s warm and the three of them - Hilda, Diana and Zelda - are gardening together. Hilda laughs at something Diana says, but Zelda isn't paying attention. Her gardenias have turned left, towards the entrance gate. A warning. Someone dear is coming._

_Mere minutes later, her older brother shows up, walking over to greet them with a broad grin on his lips and dropping his backpack at his feet._

_“Edward, that's a dirt path! Can't you for once leave your things inside like the adult you are?” She chastises her brother._

_“Missed you too, sis!” He shakes his head at her, the grin broadening. He looks even more handsome than before he left._

_Hilda stands up and gives him a hug. “You fool! We were expecting you much later this month! I haven't even prepared dinner yet!”_

_“Sorry to ruin your feast plans with my surprise, Hildy. I wrapped my research earlier than expected.”_

_Hilda beams at him in return. “Smart as ever, that's our Eddie.”_

_Zelda scoffs and rolls her eyes, getting up from the floor and taking off her gardening gloves. “Hilda, please. Don't encourage Edward’s silly monikers, he's insufferable as it is. Plus, we have a guest between us right now, don’t force her to witness your childness.”_

_All three of them turn their attention to the mortal watching the family banter._  

_“Edward, this is Diana Sawyer. She lives nearby, we have tea every now and then. Diana, please meet our brother, Edward Spellman. His manners are usually better than this.” She gives her brother a pointed look._

_Edward steps forward, mirth giving way to intrigue in his eyes. “My apologies. I'm Edward Spellman, the older brother of these two lovely ladies.” He takes Diana’s hand and makes a show of depositing a kiss on its back in a mock old-fashioned way. “It's a pleasure to meet you, oh fair maiden.”_  

_Diana and Hilda both giggle and Zelda just rolls her eyes. Yes, her brother is definitely back._

_She risks a glance at Diana and is surprised to see she's blushing, her crystal clear eyes assessing Edward from head to toe._

_“Very lovely to meet you too, mysterious gentleman.” She fakes a courtesy, bending her head, which seems to dumbfound Edward._  

_“Oooh, see? She has a sense of humor!” He pokes Zelda with his elbow and returns his attention to the blonde girl, offering her his arm. “I have a feeling we’ll get along really well. Care to join me inside for a drink?”_

_Diana hesitates for a second, but decides to go along with the charming sibling._

_“Oh, Zelda. What have we done?” Hilda whispers to her, breaks her focus. She hadn't even realized she was staring at them._

_They follow the couple chatting animatedly before them._

_“Hopefully nothing.” She mutters, more to herself than to her sister._  

The witch scoffs at her own reflection, taking the hairpins off her redheaded waves. She should have seen it coming, would probably have foreseen the genuine interest blooming between the couple if she weren't so occupied trying to figure out her own stupid heart beating erratically - lusting after a _mortal_ , no less - and making a mess out of her rationality.

_The uncommon bond between the Spellman family and the blue eyed mortal seems to strengthen with each passing day._

_Hilda exchanges recipes and sewing tricks with her, Edward tells her about the places he’s been to and asks her the most ordinary questions, making them laugh at the dinner table._

_As for Zelda, she keeps their tradition of talking over tea, extending it from weekly encounters to a nearly every day appointment. They talk about everything: from poetry to gardening, Greendale life and even deeper subjects every now and then._

_Diana tells them the story of her tragic losses on one of the occasions where both Hilda and Edward join them for tea. How rough her life was in her old hometown, being pretty much a lonely child throughout her growing years because her only sibling had been born fifteen years before her, relying on the gentle couple next door and their son as some sort of extended family._

_And then the son died from a severe case of pneumonia, his mother following not long after -her true cause of death had been sadness, a doctor said. Her own parents were never the same after that and her older sister - whom she’d never really been close enough to in the first place-, chose to leave the country altogether._

_When her father passed away in a horrific work accident at the end of that very same year, Diana decided she’d had enough, found a job at the Greendale Library and told her mother they were moving to another city to try and start over._

_“And that’s how I ended up here.” She shrugs, tears clouding her vision, threatening to fall. “But she never told me how unhappy she was. And then one day I get home from work and find a bottle of sleeping pills scattered around the floor. She never woke up again. Now the only family I have left lives an ocean away. But maybe that's for the best.”_

_This time the tears do run down her face and Hilda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze while Edward takes her hand in his, caresses it with gentle moves, never lets it go. Zelda wishes she were brave enough to do the same._

_A few days later the two women find themselves alone again one evening, Edward at the school and Hilda out for groceries. Somehow, Diana brings up the topic of children, asking her how come she doesn’t have any and inquiring if she ever wanted to._

_Zelda sips her tea calmly, looks down at her lap where she rests the porcelain cup. “I did bare a child once, a long time ago. Never went past the first trimester.”_

_“You had a miscarriage?”_

_“Hm, sort of.” Zelda leaves it at that, doesn’t want to talk about it any more than necessary. She can feel the inquisitive gaze Diana is probably holding, that polite hesitation humans so often carry when they're curious about something but refrain from voicing their thoughts aloud._

_“Does it have anything to do with the fact that you are a witch?”_  

_Zelda raises her head as quickly as the air leaves her lungs, confusion buzzing inside her mind, preventing her from thinking straight. “What?”_

_She remembers their conversation?_

_“I'm sorry, it's just Edward told me what he is, what you all are… who you worship.”_

_The noise inside her head intensifies. Edward told her? What in Satan’s name does she mean?_

_She must’ve said the last part aloud, because Diana is looking restless in her chair, moving her hands and proffering apologies and you-can-trust-mes, but Zelda can't hear her over the confusion and sudden feel of betrayal shooting daggers in her heart._

_“Diana, I need you to leave.” She finally says._

_That makes the blonde go silent. “I don't understand. Why are you reacting this way, Zelda?”_

_‘Oh, so many reasons’, she wants to say. Instead, she walks silently to her ancient front door, holds it open._

_Diana nods once, brushes away the tears streaming down her cheeks, and leaves._

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in ages, so forgive me for being a little rusty, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.  
> This story was inspired by two Florence + The Machine songs: "St Jude" and "The End of Love". I highly recommend you listen to both while reading this.  
> Thank you, see you on the next (and final) chapter.


End file.
